Hotter Than A Two-Dollar Pistol

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When things have a momentum, mes freres et mes soeurs, I find myself precariously close to something like a positive mood.

I had to tell the boss about the financial issue and that lead to a further conversation about my status as an employee.

And I said I was frustrated, not by her, but by the situation.  She said, tearfully, that she felt she hadn’t done right by me and again, that she hoped I wouldn’t leave.

I wasn’t about to let her sit and cry in front of me, not only because my heart already breaks for the whole past two years, but also because I can’t question whether or not I’ve been emotionally manipulated into offering to stay. I need to say my piece.  To have any peace.  I’ve already thrown myself into the briar patch and I’m at the point where I can’t bear to stand still anymore.  Even if I know that getting out is going to rip my very flesh off.  I felt like in that moment, I was quitting.  Even though, I don’t have anything more than a partial application submitted to fall back on, I was saying, at least in the tenor of the conversation…I am walking.

It was, briefly, like watching myself sail over the Grand Canyon in a tank.

She said she understood and that if I needed to find a new job to get my bills paid, that was okay.  It was okay to look.  I said I just can’t tell her that if something good comes along in that search, I’m not going to take it.  I didn’t want her to be shocked if I came in and said I had found something.  I care, I care, I care, but it’s just not…working.  Then we talked about me being around in some capacity, maybe helping with grant writing or being involved with the event next year, and she emailed me some newsletter about freelance writing.

I repeated that I hadn’t really looked, but I might.  I might just look.   We talked about her daughter’s college applications, I laughed and laughed, like I do when I’m flustered and want to run away and can’t. It felt like the way it used to when I was at my old job, and she just swooped in and was kind to me.

She does, honestly, care about me.  She does want me to be happy outside of whatever that means to the organization.  That means a lot to me.  She’s a good person.  I just feel ever so slightly…freed, like maybe I see a few feet forward where the thorns are all turned toward the earth and the branches begin to part.

In other news, I got a postcard from my boss who moved away to Virginia.  I think that’s incredibly kind, and throws me that she would bother.  There are so many female souls around me, guiding me, supporting me.  I have to knuckle down now and show ’em what I’m made of.

 

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